I Am Legend
by Berry Quill
Summary: AU: A HarryDraco tale. Passengers aboard a ship surrounded by a scenery of ocean, Draco Malfoy, an intellectual ambitious young man, gets promoted a tedious assignment in educating his slave, whom none other is Harry Potter.


Disclaimer: Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted are based and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsburys books, Scholastic books, and AOL Time Warner. No profit is being earned and no copyright trademark infringement is intended.

**Hello!** I'm sure the plot of this tale has already been used and reused dozens of times, I feel that shouldn't influence my will to make a somewhat unique perspective of my own! This will be solely concentrated on Harry and Draco's unbalanced relationship. The nature between them will continue to blossom as the story progresses; however, with little doubt my ignorance of sea terms and life as a "shipmate" will be less and less fluent. I will not abide my time explaining the aspects of a ship; what they sing during the ceremonial "springing" of departure from shore. Nopers! Nada! It's all about the intelligent, charming, exquisite Draco Malfoy, son of Captain Lucius Malfoy whom had granted his son rights to a slave when slavery, back then, was permitted. With that said, if you have any questions concerning some crucial errors I must have overlooked, or simply curious as to when the next chapter will be published, review! Otherwise, enjoy! Criticism is welcomed.

_There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea.  
You became the light on the dark side of me.  
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill.  
But did you know, that when it snows, my eyes become  
large and the light that you shine can be seen_…

* * *

**  
T**he eye of a flame sparked life amidst a sea of utterly stark darkness.

Like the blade of an executioner's hack, the bow of the mighty Seagreen cleaved its way through the velvet folds of the ocean with the slow practice of a butcher. Little was known of this mighty boat; from where it was created, to where it shall seek the end of its many voyages across uncharted territory. It appeared insignificant in the region of The Mighty Blue. Surrounded in all directions of erased footsteps from previous adventurers whom had sailed the same seas, Seagreen vowed a purpose when leaving the wharf weeks ago to survive the oceans unpleasant riddles and sneaky taunts of unpredicted weather patterns.

A man, no older than twenty and no younger than eighteen, slowly maneuvered his way across the main deck, narrowly avoiding buckets of sea water and blocks of soap that were carelessly abandoned. In the guise of an amateur seaman with little or no knowledge on how to navigate a ship, much less tend and authorize a crew, nevertheless gave off the impression of ambitious adolescence. He maintained a striking appearance; above shoulder-length bleach-white hair from not premature graying, and silver eyes that reflected the shady side of a glacier. He in no doubt inherited luxury, and above all a sufficient education that would take him to far greater places after his voyage from sea.

A spermaceti candle, made entirely of whale oil specifically from a sperm, was clasped gently in the young man's slender fingers. A cool current of wind tasseled his hair while sending a wave of chill that was not caused by temperature. Draco Malfoy shivered inwardly; holding the candle arm-length he squinted around, sensing a nameless fear present just beyond the feeble glow of the flame. To his disappointment, he discovered nothing conspicuous. The sea was as silent as ever, gently lapsing against the ship with ease.

Draco grunted. Returning to his prime duties, he went towards a cabin and allowed himself in. Quietly, he blew out the candle, seeing no purpose for it anymore as the cabin was already filtered of all darkness by a roaring fireplace. Situated behind a cherry-oak desk was the Captain who at the moment did not acknowledge he were there. Draco allowed himself to roam around while his father idly poured over official-looking documents.

Inside merely consisted of odds and ends; trinkets of variety from merchants, and souvenirs they could not allow themselves to pass up. Several were purchased from distant lands, desolate settlements, and small countries from continued voyages. Draco ran a finger against the binds of tattered volumes neatly aligned on a quaint bookshelf. He stopped, gazing at some of them with vague interest before turning and staring interestedly at a beautiful chessboard near the fireplace. The pieces were carved entirely out of limestone and ebony, giving it a rich texture of finely-crafted workmanship. He sent a glare at his father. He had asked for that chess set for ages and yet only received sparse compared to what was requested.

Lucius Malfoy set down his elegant goose feather quill and acknowledged Draco with a nod. "Draco."

"Father," Draco replied curtly, still personally peeved for Lucius' refusal of the chessboard. "You wanted to see me?"

Lucius nodded. He quietly folded up the parchment, put it in a yellowing envelope and sealed it with wax. Setting it aside momentarily, he fixed Draco with a stare of subconscious debate, whether the news of what he would soon tell was worth the confrontation of Draco's reaction. Folding over the dismay, Lucius cleared his throat, picked up his quill and pointed to the far corner.

"There," he said tonelessly. "I know it shall be your nineteenth birthday. I wanted to give you something you could thoroughly use. Not only thus, but tame it as well. I know you've been bored. Our destination is still afar, and having no other entertainment to provide for I am busy, Draco, and much of the crew has chores to attend to, cannot have you sulking about, moping and mourning."

"I don't _mope_," Draco said harshly. In truth, he was in denial. Having left his home of London weeks ago, he missed his school, his friends, his ideal life before adventuring over sea. Books and writing were the only assets that allowed him to maintain his willpower and sanity. "And I don't _sulk_. I—"

With a dismissing hand, Lucius cut him off: "Enough of this. I'm not here to argue. I have much to attend to and this disagreement is already wasting plenty of time. Just get your gift, Draco, and be done with it."

Draco, following the direction of his father's quill, was thoroughly startled he had not noticed a figure curled up in the corner when he first entered. The man—or woman, he could not identify a sex yet—was enclosed in a fetal position near Lucius' wardrobe in the far corner. The person looked entirely drenched in dirt and grime. An essence, which he had yet noticed until now, of sickness wafted from him, churning Draco's stomach and making his face contort in disgust. This person had apparently never had a proper bath sine the Renaissance; sneering at his cruelty, Draco strolled passively over and got on his haunches, observing the victim.

It was a man, that much he could justify. He was tender-footed, it appeared, by his tentative, shaken movements; obviously an unconscious association with beatings and whippings that allowed the man to sense danger before it drew near. However, devoid of whips and weapons, Draco placed a hand on his bare back, feeling beneath his fingers scars and scratches from the man's former master.

He smelled something awful. Feces and dirt. Draco made a mental note to toss him overboard with ropes binding his ankles just for the benefit of allowing the salt to clense his wounds and extinguish the raunchy odor.

Lucius had appeared at his side, staring down at the man with a sense of disgust. "He was sold to me," he simply said, "for very little silver. Apparently he is cracked in the head. Can't seem to remember much and has a problem understanding orders. I'm not quite sure why I bought him; really, a waste of a person if I've ever seen such." Lucius observed him with close-cropped eyes, as if it were in his Sainthood for buying this disobedient slave that he deserved well-earned praise and recognition. "Tend to him, Draco. Teach him our customs."

Draco nodded silently. He withdrew his hand from the shaking body and reached out to touch the many greasy locks of raven-black hair. The man shivered, goosebumps freckling his skin. This man had obviously been in the hands of monsters, Draco mused as his fingers continued to graze the slaves filthy hair.

In the unsettling silence, a distant rumble of approaching thunder caused the slave to clasp his hands over his ears and moan, his face still determinedly averted from his new masters. Draco observed this with deep intent, noting the slaves reaction to loud noises and vibrations. Lucius lifted his face to the low-hanging ceiling and listened. "A storm is brewing to the Northeast," he commenced. Draco said nothing.

"What is your name?"

The slave shivered more thoroughly, as if the very words caused him acute agony.

"I say, what is your name? Respond."

"It is no use," Lucius supplied. "I have already tried to converse with him. I'm not sure if he can even speak, much less understand what we're saying. Do you think you can educate him, Draco? If not I will simply resell him when we land in New England."

A piercing affection enclosed Draco's heart with steel bands. He felt a deep passion to associate with the slave in a more friendlier environment; to communicate and allow the slave to understand he was in no moral danger or peril; he was in the hands of an intelligent young man, willing more than anything to teach. He would teach him how to read, that was a necessity. But foremost the slave must learn the alphabet. To understand words, syllables, verbs, nouns. Charter him into a world beyond manacles and pain where one would experience an overwhelming ecstasy when settling down near a warm fire and being able to comprehend words and phrases in one of his favorite novels. That was a world this man had been deprived from. A virgin to education, and it was he, Draco, who would redeem the mans lost opportunity for such wondrous possibilities.

The very aspect of this long and time-consuming new task seemed all but exciting. Of course, he would not express his anticipation in front of his disciplinary father. Instead, plastering on a look of grief that he would rather be someplace else doing something far more worth while, Draco stood up stiffly and stared down at the man with remorse.

"Father, couldn't you perhaps grant another well-able crewman to do such a tedious assignment?"

Lucius stared at him skeptically. "Are you out of your _mind?_ Right now my men have far more pressing matters to attend to, Draco, you know this! Settling down and trying to teach this mongrel proper etiquette is something that deems far less important. I merely placed this slave in your care for the time-being, Draco, to occupy you with. Do what you must with him. When we arrive in New England we will sell him at port to the Yankees. He should get us a good percentage of silver. Understand?"

Draco sighed, yet inwardly shrieked with glee. "If I must."

"I want you to report to me every week on how your teachings are coming along."

"Yes, father."

Lucius, thoroughly convinced of Draco's answer, turned on his heel and went back towards his desk. Draco continued to scrutinize the slave's flesh. Intertwined were several deep gashes and grisly scars, some of which gave a clear understanding that the slave's disobedience was profound and certainly not tolerated. Each lash, Draco calculated, summed up an order that had been dismissed or entirely mutilated by either the slaves clumsiness or stupidity. Either way, perhaps the people just got a sick pleasure in seeing innocence suffering.

The cabin door banged open, revealing several disgruntled looking crewman. "Capt'n!" one bearded man shouted. "Got us another leakage!"

"Blasphemy!" Lucius roared, throwing himself in the lead of the two crewman who gazed at Draco for a moment before departing after Lucius' wake.

Draco stared at the cabin door, half-expecting Lucius to kick it open and demand he join him. But no such thing occurred, and allowing another few minutes to pass by, Draco smiled fondly and stared at the shivering, cowering man of which closely resembled a corpse having been pried up from moist graveyard dirt.

The man started, then slowly, ever so slowly, turned his body around so his face was revealed with the remains of a quarter still veiled by shadow. Draco smiled, assuring the man he was no threat.

Startling green eyes with a hue of dark emerald gazed thoughtfully into Draco's flawless appearance. Stunned by the slaves actions, he granted a moments silence for the man to closely observe his new master with innocent speculation. Draco was reminded of a thick tropical rain forest from the slave's eyes. Barricaded by the lavishing, radiant consistency of the man's green eyes was a needle-point pupil that expanded and contrasted, focused upon Draco with much immense concentration. Draco noticed dark stumble around the mans strong jaw and sharp chin. He didn't know if the man had ever operated a straight-razor, or if his former masters did the deed. However, evidence of the stubble clarified the slave had a recent shave.

But apart from these minor features was a scar right squarely in the middle of his forehead. It was unique, odd in its chemistry and whether an unfortunate childhood accident or a relic from the many masters that had owned him he could not tell. Unlike the scars on his back which were clumsy and soulless, the lightning bolt scar seemed almost accurate; purposeful, enchanting, far from a blemish but a qualify that only emphasizes the mans character.

"Harry Potter."

Draco lapsed out of his reverie so quickly as if someone had doused him with cold, melted ice. "What did you say?" he gasped, nonplussed by the tone of his inquiry.

"M-my n-name… Harry Potter."

"You—you can speak English!"

The slave smiled broadly, revealing straight white teeth with in contrast to his filthy demeanor, seemed to sparkle and glisten.

"Why did you not answer me when I asked you your name earlier?"

Harry shrugged his heavily bruised shoulders. With an effort, he scrunched up his brow while sifting through his limited vocabulary. "I—" he paused. Draco leaned forward, ears straining as he was eager to endorse on this new development. "Trust," said Harry after a long silence.

Draco smirked, leaning back on his haunches. Shifting weight to gain more comfort, he sat down on his hams and peered at Harry with the silent interrogation of a scientist observing a specimen under the lenses of a hot microscope.

Intrigued by the slave further, Draco opened his mouth but closed it again. How was he to say that this man was now _his _slave? His tool. The very prospect of denouncing a man's freedom by declaring he had all legal rights to his soul was saying he was the new God of the Universe. It was absurd; arrogant and dimwitted. This man belonged to no one, and has never been "claimed". Despite the rightful papers, which Draco declared just merely scraps of nonsense, he felt no pull to punish the man for not addressing him as "Master" or bowing vigorously because he was merely a slave and should show courtesy to those much higher above him.

First, and foremost, he said the thing that should be said before any other further instruction: "You're free."

"W-what?" Harry stuttered. He shook his head, sending locks of raven-black hair over his forehead and concealing the unique scar. "I—"

"I said," Draco repeated, his voice stern, "you're free. You're not mine, nor do you belong to this ship. I will not stand here and assume that your soul is within the palm of my hand just by some ridiculous notions written upon parchment. I, nor anybody else, can tell you what to do. You are at level with everyone here."

Harry opened his mouth in awe, then slowly closed it, flabbergasted and too shocked to reply.

"Despite the slavery custom, Harry Potter, I do not follow the herd. There is no prophet declaring that any slave to be set free should endure a treachery of curses and spells, and the master from which had allowed this forbidden act shall be punished. What I mean is, you are a human being. I shall treat you like an equal, because you are. An equal; to me, to the crew, to anybody who has told you otherwise. All I ask from you is your trust."

Harry opened his mouth again, but seemed momentarily silenced by Draco's kindness.

"However," Draco sighed, vigorously darting glances at the cabin door for his father's approaching footsteps. "Just because I set you free doesn't mean you're allowed to parade around the ship, boasting and disrupting other crew members. Father has ill judgment, and will not allow this to propose. It shall be our little secret, understand? Just remember. You're a free man, born free, and shall die free. Freedom is important; it's what gives man sheer willpower to go out there and conquer the unconquerable; understand the things that seem near impossible to understand; to live, to love, to dedicate. You are your own individual, Harry Potter. You were not put here to scrub pots and tend to the chickens or cook stew. You just fell into the hands of the ignorant, thwarted and abused. But the difference between them and you is you're aware of who _you_ are."

"Mas—Mr. Malfoy," Harry whispered. "I—"

"Don't worry, Harry Potter," said Draco superiorly. "We will discuss more later. For now, we must get you clean. By the way, can you read?"

"No," Harry frowned, having the grace to look sheepish when standing underneath the shadow of an intelligent man. "I—I'm sorry."

Draco smiled. "Don't worry. We shall remedy that. Can you write?"

"No…" said Harry, his crimson blush growing steadily darker.

"How did you learn to talk?"

"England," said Harry, scrunching up his face to recall the event when words started making sense. "Mother and father were enslaved, soon after birth to me, both were murdered. By who I—I'm not sure. I was taken in by an orphanage. My only"—Harry tapped his temple—"is to take orders. Soon I start going under the wings of many people. Some treated me good, others were—were very mean." Harry shifted his gaze, feeling the urge to face the corner again. "Talking c-comes natural… not very g-good at it."

The cabin door suddenly swung open, letting in a ferocity of heavy rain. Lucius marched in, drenched from head to boots and looking downtrodden. His long silver-blond hair pulled back into a pony tail was dripping at the tips; scowl creases in his face were deepened as he cast a sideways glance at Draco and Harry, looking on the verge of a tirade but all-together surprised they were still evidently in his cabin.

"_Well?_" he grunted, stalking towards them. Harry cowered. Draco noticed his eyes glaze over, his mouth thin and body taut like the string on a bow. He was suddenly feeling a sense of loss. All the time it took Harry to crawl out from beneath the suffocation of fear and doubt to only lose him again by the trance he often escaped to in order to withstand punishments. "Did you get anything out of him?"

Draco stood up curtly, putting on fake facade of distrust. "Nothing. Merely scraps of grumbling. Incoherent and barbaric. Obviously a savage, father. It'll take time, I suppose. Much of which I have an exceedingly vast supply of."

"Good, good," said Lucius, not really listening. "Well take him to your quarters, Draco. I shall see to it in the morning. Oh, and before you go..." Lucius went towards his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of black-framed spectacles. "These came with him. Not only uneducated by blind. Nonetheless, he will need them." Draco stared at the glasses, eyebrows raised in silent query. Lucius shrugged. "I was afraid if I kept them on him he would attempt suicide from the glass." Draco took the glasses, then went towards Harry and prodded him with his boot. Reluctantly, the man stood, his back bent and his arms wrapped securely around him. Draco grabbed a thin blanket from the wardrobe and tossed it nonchalantly around his body, hoping his act was convincing enough to deceive even Lucius' eyes.

It took them quite a while to make it back to Draco's accommodations. The wind was treacherous, howling an eerie melody man has yet to comprehend; the waves of the sea lashed and twirled, bashing violently against the ship with force like an iron fist. Draco ran, head bent and several times slipped before Harry caught him. The boat swayed in a sickly motion. Draco was surprised he had not felt these occurrences in his father's cabin; perhaps for a solid moment everything around him had evaporated into oblivion, and only him and Harry's presence were the two remaining chronicles in life, each taking a different step yet ending up on the same path.

With the door shut and bolted, Draco leaned his back against it and sighed. Harry stood in the middle of the dimly-lit room, shivering and wet. Only then did Draco notice he wore not an article of clothing except a tea-towel loincloth around his naval. Draco grumbled something incoherently and went towards the fireplace. Taking a poker, he kindled the glowing embers of wood around until a steady plume of heat emitted.

"You are to sleep here tonight," he said, ashen face and tired. "There is no spare berth, but I shall make you a pallet on the floor. It will do tonight. Tomorrow a bath. Yes—?"

Harry said nothing.

Draco patiently made a small pallet on the floor next to his bed, hoping it was comfortable enough for the night. He then went and tossed Harry some clean clothes, turning his back as the man undressed. Draco was tired. It had been a long day, and he was in dire need of nourishment and sleep. He knew Harry was hungry, but the man would have to wait until dawn. As for writing and reading, Draco pondered of making a schedule. Perhaps every Tuesday and Thursday, sessions of reading, leaving Monday and Wednesdays for writing. Friday he would allow Harry a break. Indeed, it was going to be a long voyage, and he spoke not of the cruise towards New England, but the task at hand of training and educating Harry.

"How old are you?" he said rhetorically.

"Eighteen," said Harry in a hoarse voice, then quickly amended: "Sir."

Draco laughed gently. "Sleep."

He lit an oil lamp and set it not far from Harry's reach in case the man needed protection—from what? He didn't know—and next to the lamp he gently placed his glasses. Harry turned on his side and was immediately submerged by sleep. He slept silently, unaware of being under surveillance by silver eyes that danced with a promise of a future.

* * *

_  
"The end of the chapter? Noooo!"_

That's it, folks. The end of the chapter, but not the end of the story entirely! Now, just would like to clear up a few things. You may notice Draco is very nice! He's kindhearted; I did that on purpose (obviously!). I felt I wanted a different Draco Malfoy as opposed to the original menacing, deceptive, rude little twit. I can't provide you with an explanation as to _why_, but don't worry. He'll still have some of that Malfoy charm. Sneers, cunning, bit a cruel humor, etc.

_"The freedom speech! What brought that on?"_

Well, Malfoy's character in this story should explain it all! He's **intelligent **and therefore must act intelligent and be sensible! He's too intelligent for the economy to go along with slavery! He's too sophisticated to follow in his father's narrow, little perspective of what is right and what is wrong! He's too good for that! He doesn't look at Harry as a slave, but as a person. That's brilliant! to me, anyway.

_"Harry talks! Wouldn't it be more realistic if perhaps he didn't understand their language?"_

Hrm -- I suppose it would. But I look at it like this: if Harry is a native in London, a slave, I would think he has been exposed to the language! Just because someone can understand a tongue of some kind and be able to speak it as well doesn't necessarily mean their very bright. He's just been influenced and conditioned by his former "masters" and hence why he is able to keep up a simple conversation. Simple of which, if you'll notice, I didn't put any confusing or hard words in Harry's dialect. Everything is very simple and understandable! And besides, Harry's not entirely stupid!

_"When does the romance start taking place?"_

In a few chapters -- I know, I know, I know. Slash-lovers demand slash **A.S.A.P!** when reading an involved story of Harry/Draco. But come on now, folks! If I just bring it all in, there would be no point of the story! I want to build it up! Right to the climax where you get that _explosion! _In this case, the _first kiss_. Patience is a virtue!

_"This is pretty similar to another story I'm familiar with. I smell fraud!"_

Indeed? Well that's no good. If this story is relatively similar to something you have read in the past, I'm terribly sorry. No furthermore, I'm **ashamed**. I will therefore end this tale a.s.a.p to ensure the survival of my dignity.

_"Wait! I have another question!"_

If the questions above weren't properly answered or explained, or you have another question just simply leave a review and I will answer it. Thanks for reading!


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